


One Last Glass

by adowtrash



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 03:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17072321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adowtrash/pseuds/adowtrash
Summary: Located somewhere in the middle of the events of episode 3, Matthew attends a conference and tries to convince himself that he hasn't fallen in love.





	One Last Glass

“The wine at these things is always awful.”

Matthew gave her a look from beneath lowered lashes as she settled in beside him, reclining against the wall and cradling the bowl of the glass in her palm.

Emily wasn’t quite a friend, but they saw each other often enough at conferences to have built a rapport. She also had an easy sexuality that led to a regular practice of heading back to his hotel room with no further expectations. 

He appreciated that she opened with the pretense that he’d want to chat first, but there was no point in wasting time talking about free wine. He had decided, somewhere along the way to London, that his problem was all down to being cooped up for too long. Long hours in the lab and long stretches between proper meals had caused him to mistake simple lust for love. 

It helped that Emily couldn’t be more different – tall, dark-haired, olive-skinned. Wrap dress and heels, rather than shapeless sweaters and slacks. Direct. Clear in her desires. 

She let the rim of the glass linger on her mouth, slashed with dark lipstick, and smiled. 

They were in a cab before she could ask him any routine questions about his talk – a talk he hardly remembered himself as he’d spent most of it battling memories of late afternoon light illuminating golden hair and bright blue eyes. 

Normally they’d sit in an almost businesslike silence, with no outward sign of their intentions. But he’d spent days being so careful, so tentative, and now unmet desire pounded in his chest, with the need to touch and be touched overwhelming all rational sense.

His face was buried in her hair, trying not to think about how Emily’s sharp lemongrass and jasmine scent differed from a softer, simpler sweetness. 

This wasn’t about Diana, he reminded himself.

To prove it, he ran a hand up Emily’s skirt just as the cab driver coughed, drawing attention to the fact that they had been parked for at least a few moments. She laughed and smoothed her hem back into place. He fished money out of his wallet, paid, and pulled her after him. 

In the empty elevator she crept his zipper down as they kissed, fingers drifting into his open fly as the doors shuddered apart and they stumbled toward his room. 

His shirt came off easily, and he reached impatiently for the ties on her dress. She’d never asked about his scars and he no longer thought to be self-conscious about them with her. Emily’s lack of personal curiosity was one of her most attractive features, particularly now.

She broke away to pull open the dress herself, and in that brief distance he was seized by an odd rush of guilt – but pushed it aside. The worst thing he could do would be to walk into Diana's rooms tomorrow and sit down to dinner with this much pent-up need coursing through him.

And this wasn’t about Diana.

He drew Emily to him again, moving his mouth along her jaw until he reached her ear. 

“Do you want me?” 

His voice carried a desperate edge that surprised him, and he felt her intake of breath, along with a slight confusion. They didn’t normally bother with this.

She obliged anyway, pulling his belt through the buckle. 

“Desperately," she said with wry amusement. 

His belt slid out easily from the loops, she pushed open the top button of his slacks, and took him firmly in hand. 

This was what he needed. Just this. Then he could think clearly again.

He returned the favor, dipping deft fingers below elastic lace, her amusement turning to pleasure. 

“Matthew,” she breathed into his ear, her hand continuing its steady movement, offering a peace he hadn’t felt in weeks. 

Somewhere in that stillness he caught a fragment of a golden face absorbed in a stack of books, then smiling up at him with a tender openness, then huffing as he teased her across a research desk.

This wasn’t about –

“Diana,” he answered back.


End file.
